


Green Carnations

by hgcl2



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe, BUT THEY DONT KNOW, Crossdressing, Eloping, F/F, F/M, FUCK, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Heavy Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Jack the Ripper DLC, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Prostitution, Trans Character, Victorian, a lot of fluff, closeted gays and lesbians, everyones gay, harvey doesnt get a break, hop on the gender identity rollercoaster!!, icantwriteimsorry, im bad at tagging, im sorry, its confusing, its confusing at times, maybe some smut????, not really but yeah, people dont know theyre gay, the molly club is like a gay club, theres a lot of characters im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:24:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hgcl2/pseuds/hgcl2
Summary: Where a lot of stuff goes down in the streets of the West End in the 1880s.





	1. Salve, vale.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! I got the sudden urge to write about my Victorian ocs so here I am! I just wanna say I'm no writer and it's kinda my first time writing a fic soo.. Sorry if I mess up a lot.  
> Let me quickly point some things out
> 
> -If it wasn't clear, this is set in Victorian (19th century) England.  
> -All characters used in the story are mine unless stated otherwise.  
> -The summary is really bad. I'll fix it soon.
> 
>  
> 
> Do try to read this with an open mind! It does discuss sexuality and gender identity in a historical setting, so its kinda different in a way.

The garden was vast and open before him, completely empty besides for the gardener kneeling near the rose bush and the lanky figure of his brother Charles running towards him, his arms spread out wide.

Most of his days were spent alone, but little Edward didn't care. It hadn't taken long for him to become accustomed to the negligence of his other siblings and even his mother. He wasnt always alone, though. Whenever Charles wasn't locked up in his study; he would see himself to Edward's room, creep up from behind and startle him, making the smaller boy jump and double over in laughter. Charles was a whole 10 years older than Edward, and of course, already had his own adult duties to attend to, but that never stopped his inner child to come out whenever he was around his little brother. 

From a very young age, both boys had been left aside and abandoned. Charles was a mistake, a bastard. Edward was defective. They only had each other.

On the very early hours of a misty January morning in 1859, Martha went into labour and delivered her second child. The birth was long and tedious, and it was thought that the child was going to die more than once. Even so, Charles Barclay was born strong and healthy. One would think that this, to any mother, would be a delight, a blessing. But in this case, it wasn't. It was a mistake. A big mistake, Martha told herself. While her husband had been off on a business trip to America, Martha had found her way with a man named John Williams, a middle-class man. How had it happened? It was all a blur, or at least so she said. Not too long had passed before she realised she was with child. 

Shortly after Charles was born, he was sent with a wet nurse to the countryside. He only returned to the mansion when he was 5 to find he was never missed. His mother had given birth to twins, and little Alfred and Lucille seemed to be the light of her life. All her attention, love and care was focused on her beautiful twins, the kids she held in such high standards up until she took her very last breath. 

It didn't take him long to realise he wasn't wanted. 

Edward was a different case. He was very much wanted, indeed, planned even. Yet his birth came as unexpected. He was born premature, almost took his mother with him to the other side. No one thought he would make it, so the child was to be immediately christened. Edward's survival came as a surprise to all, however, it seemed as if the heavens were making him pay for surviving.  
The child was bedridden for weeks on end very early on, and his contact with his other siblings was restricted out of fear he would infect them all. It wasn't like his siblings wanted to get close to him, either way. Alfred never missed a chance to bully Harvey for his sickness, blamed him for being a burden and a disgrace, as well as costing their mother a lot of money. It seemed even his supposed-to-be-twin turned him away.

Edward was supposed to be part of the second pair of twins Martha had given birth to, but this wasnt the case, for little Rose Mary had been born more than a few weeks after Edward. A troubled birth, but a healthy, beautiful child whom everyone in the household seemed to love and protect as if she were the most delicate and precious entity. Rosita was always at the centre of the spotlight and had everyone's attention despite her not caring for it. Edward knew she didn't mean any harm, but her constant neglection made him feel even worse about being secluded from everyone else. Unlike all his other siblings, he did not go to school but instead was taught (and raised, for the most part) by his governess, who was the same who had brought Charles up. If not having friends was not enough, being rejected by his own blood hit him even harder.

Apart from Charles, the only other person Edward could call a 'friend' was a young boy with dark curls, soft dark skin and a notable eye patch covering his right eye. The boy, Tommo, was the son of a couple who had been lucky enough to find jobs rather quickly upon arriving in London, but unlucky to have ended up with the Barclay family. Tommo had been stuck at the mansion very early on and was often found sneaking around the house or playing in the garden, many times watching Edward nervously as if he wanted to approach the boy but was too scared to do so. Edward had quickly taken interest in the younger boy, and they had soon become close friends. 

Now, Charles had his arms wrapped tight around Edward's body, and was squeezing the life out of the boy. His thick curls bounced as he laughed and placed Edward back on the ground. He sat by his side and ruffled his brother's hair, telling him all about his time at Oxford, and how much he'd missed him. Edward was intrigued, but he couldn't help but notice how much Charles had changed since they had last seen each other.

It was the summer of 1878, and Charles was home for the summer for the first time since he had started University. Had it not been for Edward, Charles would have rather stayed at the dorms at Oxford, but he had made his way back to the outskirts of London to be with his brother again after a long year. It was the last happy memory he had, and, though he didn't know it at the time, the last time he saw Charles.

* * * 

Dawn was breaking in London, and the early morning sun shone brightly through the open window, illuminating the room and drawing a groan out of Harvey as she pulled her only blanket over her head. Last night had been bloody awful, and she'd left the tavern feeling sore and confused. 

It often happened; a nasty son of a bitch would decide it was okay for him to take advantage of her, offered her a drink or two, and then left her anywhere she wouldn't raise suspicion, looking like any ordinary drunken whore. She was always found by her fellow girls, who kept an eye on her at all times and brought back to the club where she would remain until ungodly hours. Often, Harvey would find herself wondering how on earth she'd ended up like this- a young girl her age, already throwing away her life at one of the most disreputable taverns in the west end. When she was younger, she had dreamed of being a great actress, adored and admired by everyone, but reality had hit her hard and she realised the closest she was to being a star was to be a performer in the Seven Crowns. As much as she hated it, she didn't complain and instead was thankful she even had a job, no matter how bad the pay was. Who was she to question God's decision, anyway?

Harvey shifted uncomfortably and sighed, giving up and throwing her coverers off in frustration. One more night without sleep, did it really matter? Every morning, Harvey would be up with the first warm rays of sunlight, regardless of how late she had fallen into slumber the previous night. 

In the blink of an eye, Harvey was rushing down the stairs, jumping off right before the last two steps, and throwing the flimsy door open. She stepped outside with a bright smile, looking around as she tied her hair into a low ponytail with a ribbon. It was the start of a brand new day, and despite the bad start, Harvey was ready to make the most of her morning.


	2. Memento Mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newton was the father of two and a respectable man. Keyword is _was_

The clock had long ceased to function, yet it wasn't like it was needed at all. In Newton's house, time had stopped an eternity ago. The house had been bathed in darkness in more ways than one the same day the clocked stopped, when the curtains were drawn shut and the mirrors covered- or in this case, smashed by Newton's brute force in a moment of pure anger. 

He would have loved to say that, after having spent so many years in the industry, he wasn't fazed, that he didn't care. It had been the first day of Winter, and Newton had just returned from a funeral rite. He was covered in dirt and gravel, but it wasn't like he really cared. He had expected to come home to his cheerful son waiting for him at the door, but when he arrived home he was greeted by no one.

"Alice?" Newton called out in vain, for no one replied. He removed his hat and coat and left them on the coat hanger, before walking to the kitchen in search of his wife. It seemed no one was home. Odd.  
"John?" Again, no response. It wasn't until he raised his voice that he heard a soft grunt coming from the drawing room, which drew a relieved sigh from him. When he entered the room, he found his wife sitting on an armchair, sleepily rubbing her eyes. 

She had an open book laying on her upside down on her lap, so he figured she must have fallen asleep while reading. He smiled to himself and kneeled in front of her, cupping her cheek. "You scared me for a moment there." he pressed a loving kiss to her forehead. "Where is John?" 

Alice meerely shook her head and shrugged, finally closing the book and pushing herself up. "He must be in his room, I never saw him leave." She pushed the book back in the shelf and turned to face Newton. "How was it? Did Harvey end up going?"

"Dull, as you'd expect. It was deadly quiet." He chuckled and walked towards her, snaking his arm around her waist. Alice brushed a strand of hair off his face and smiled. Newton returned the smile. "I was not able to find Harvey today, but I received a wire saying he'd be here at 6 o' clock tomorrow. Im sure he is just fine, you musnt worry yourself."

"Is that so?" She buried her face in the crook of Newton's neck and closed her eyes. Nowadays she wasn't able to spend as much time with Newton as she once used to. She was with child once more, and working alongside her husband had become tedious. Newton was good enough to let her work with him. Many husbands would rather have their wives stay at home and be good housewives, but Newton wanted Alice by his side. From the very beginning, Newton had taken interest in what Alice wanted. He said he didn't mind what she did as long as she stayed by his side. Alice chose to work with him. She had never taken a liking to fulfilling the role of a housewife, and she wanted to feel like she was actually /doing/ something. Like she was useful. "I see. Will you call John down? I shall start preparing dinner." 

After that, it was much of a blurr. Newton remembered calling John's name, and upon not hearing a response walking up the stairs. He remembered feeling heavier with every step he took. He remembered- he remembered pushing the door open and seeing-  
He would have loved to say that, after manhandling and cutting and disembowelling corpses and filling them back up, he didnt give a bloody flying /fuck/. He would have loved to say that walking into his son's room to find the child sprawled out on the floor on his bed, rigid and pale as the ashy sky outise didnt make him want to scream out loud, cursing every living thing and the heavens above for taking his boy away from him. He would have loved to say that he didnt feel his heart stop when he reached out his hand and felt his skin was unimaginably cold. Jo

He didn't remember what happened after.

Not too long had passed before all the clocks in the house had been stopped. All the curtains had been drawn closed, and the mirrors had to be covered. He couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the darkness, the emptiness. 

Newton had cut up a thousand bodies and buried a thousand more, but he would have never imagined he would have had to examine and bury his own little boy. When he was left alone in the mortuary with his son's corpse, he couldnt bring himself to lift the sheet covering him. He couldnt, because if he lifted that sheet he would have to go all the way. He would have to cut into him, would have to examine and search and look for something, _anything_ , that would reveal why he died. And then he would have to bury him. And then there was no going back.  
Their grieving was cut short, and they were blessed with another baby boy. Jonah Douglas was born a few weeks after John's funeral. Alice thought naming him after someone in the Bible would help to keep him safe. He often got ill, but it was never life-threatening. 

When he was 6, Jonah had to have his left leg amputated. Gangrene had taken over Jonah's leg, turning it black having started at the toes, but the boy didn't think it important to tell his parents. He took it to himself to take whatever herbs or medicines he could find in the kitchen cabinet. He never told his parents until it was too late. 

When he was 7 he started feeling unwell. His meals were left uneaten, and the small amounts of food he ate were quickly spewed. Merely a few days away from turning 8, a bothersome headache had rendered him to bed. In less than an hour, he was paralysed. He didn't make it to his 8th birthday.

Newton didn't attend the funeral.

He would have sworn that his heart ached more than his fist did when shattering the mirror pane, that his agonizing screams stung more than the glass in his knuckles, that his tears burned more than his blood.

Once again, the clocks had come to a halt. The closed curtains forbade the sun from disrupting Newton's misery. He didn't feel like the sun had the right to shine anymore. He didn't feel like time had the right to keep flowing. To him, it felt as though all the happiness and joy from his life had been drained and turned into pure sorrow and darkness. It wasn't _fair_ that everything kept going, it didn't feel right. The drawn curtains prevented him from seeing how everything kept going as if nothing had happened, how the sun rose and set and the days turned into nights and nights into days and days into weeks. This time, the darkness comforted him. This time, there were no mirrors covered. This time, Newton had made sure all the mirrors in the house were shattered so he wouldn't have to look at the reflection of a wretched father who was unable to keep his sons alive. 

He sat alone in his study, staring blankly at the wall. It had been a year since Jonah had passed away, and things had much changed in the household. Newton occupied himself with work, whilst Alice attended church instead. She had had enough death to last her a lifetime, and didn't want to face it again under any circumstance. Newton had lost all faith too long ago, and though Alice's belief that praying would do some good to her deceased children, he had come to the conclusion that it was her way of grieving and decided to leave her be. Harvey, the young boy who had been working with him, had been long been relieved of his duties. He stopped sleeping by Alice's side or sleeping altogether. He barely slept more than 3 hours a day, and when he did sleep he did so in his study. His lack of sleep was evident, and he had aged quicker than he would have liked. The maids had been dismissed, and the house was alone and dead quiet as a result. No one really set foot inside the house anymore, not even Newton himself.

He buried his hand in his pocket and pulled out a locket, which upon closer inspection had the letter J inscribed on both sides, and opened it carefully. Inside, two stands of hair laid stuffed in the inner circle. The strands were to be told apart by two different ribbons holding each strand together, one white one for John and a blue one for Jonah. Newton clutched the locket in his hand and bit his lower lip. It just wasnt _fair_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say, I'm not really good at describing illnesses so
> 
> John dies of sudden cardiac arrest and Jonah dies of Polio. I couldn't really find any info on how long it took for Polio to kill someone but I assumed if it paralysed the muscles that help you breathe then it wouldn't take more than a day.
> 
> Alice belongs to @/bean.sprout on IG.


End file.
